Red
by Amaterasu1969
Summary: Gold eyes looked up as a flurry of petals blew around. With hair the color of silver, and eyes the color of cherry blossoms, the Madly Blooming Princess looked down at the Aristocratic Assassin. "I like you…for the way you're so honest. Let me give you a taste of sin."


**A1969: So, I've been watching Vampire Knight lately, and this oneshot idea will not leave me alone. My brain keeps bugging me about it, actually.  
Brain: you know you want to!  
A1969: wait…are you talking to me?  
Brain: yes…I'm the little voice in your head, A1969.  
A1969: oh god…I'm going crazy. Funny thing about crazy—it has a way of sticking to you, and—  
Brain: whatever. Disclaimer!  
A1969: anyway, I don't own Vampire Knight or Inuyasha. Those belong to Matsuri Hino and Rumiko Takahashi, respectively. Note: set after Inuyasha episode seven, when Sesshoumaru wound up near Asano castle, after having his arm cut off. Implied character death.**

**Summary:  
Gold eyes looked up as a flurry of petals blew around. With hair the color of silver, and eyes the color of cherry blossoms, the Madly Blooming Princess looked down at the Aristocratic Assassin. "I like you…for the way you're so honest. Let me give you a taste of sin."**

***.*.*.***

_**Red**_

***.*.*.***

_Red was the color of blood that stained white._

Leaning against a tree, the proud _daiyoukai_ of the Western Lands closed his eyes, stoically ignoring the pain that gripped him like a vise. Blood flowed freely from where, a little while ago, his left arm had been. His brow furrowed, and his jaw clenched as one word escaped his lips.

"_Tessaiga."_

Though the pain that swept through him was immense, it was nothing compared to the injustice he had felt as his own Father's fang pierced through his flesh.

_Father…why did you bestow the Tessaiga upon that worthless half-breed? Am I, Sesshoumaru, not worthy of your great power? _

For a fraction of a second, a spasm of pain flickered through his features, before he controlled himself. A million swords could have pierced his very heart, and that pain would have been nothing compared to the betrayal he felt.

_Red was the scent of blood that hung heavily in the air._

The image of his accursed brother wielding their Father's legendary fang flashed, unbidden, through his mind. A flare of anger welled up inside him—the desire to kill was so strong, it surprised even him.

"Inuyasha…give me the Tessaiga," he growled quietly.

In his mind's eye, he could see the light of the moon upon the sand at his feet. In front of him, stood the demon with supreme power, the one great demon he was destined to defeat. How he remembered that night well—it stood out more clearly than any other memory.

The wind had been cold, and the only sounds were the crashing of the waves, and the steady drip of blood on the cold sand…

_Red was the color of falling blood._

The moon had been full, he recalled.

"_Why do you seek power, my son?"_ His Father's voice rang clearly through his mind.

"_The path I walk is the way of supreme conquest…and it is power that will reveal the way for me."_

The gentle sound of a bell suddenly rang through the air.

The Aristocratic Assassin slowly opened his eyes to find a flurry of cherry blossoms dancing in the air.

_Cherry blossoms?_

Golden eyes looked up.

He saw her through a swirling veil of petals.

She was sitting upon the branches of the tree across him. Her thick mane of silver hair blew gently in the wind. Tears fell from eyes the color of cherry blossoms as she gazed at him with an expression of sorrow. Blood fell from the corner of her lips, blood that she did not feel the need to wipe away. She clutched a bloody flute in one hand.

He narrowed his eyes. The woman was strong, almost on the same caliber as him. And yet…it was not the power that had caught his attention—it was the expression in her eyes. At once both filled with sorrow, and a burning desire for vengeance.

"Do you know loss as well?" she asked, as tears continued to fall from her eyes.

Petals swirled around him as he regarded her. "Only the weak grow attached," he said calmly.

Her eyes widened, and, for an instant, she looked completely mad. The sorrow returned, and she smiled at him. "I see," she said. "And yet…you yourself are so attached, are you not?"

He narrowed his eyes, as they continued to stare at one another. "Are you not?" the woman repeated.

Her only reply was a cold stare.

Undeterred, the woman leapt lightly from her branch and landed gracefully on the ground, amidst a swirl of tears and cherry blossoms. For an instant, he wondered what loss she had incurred.

Slowly, she made her way towards him. She looked down at him. "I envy you," she said softly. The scent of the blood that trickled from her lip was not her own.

He chose not to answer her.

"You have never known loss, have you?" she asked. There was something almost mocking about her tone. Her gaze fell on the blood that poured from the wound where his left arm had been.

"To acknowledge loss is to admit weakness," the Aristocratic Assassin said quietly.

For a moment, the woman's eyes were filled with nothing but surprise, before sorrow returned. "Weakness…?" she said softly.

He watched, unflinching, as she suddenly knelt on the ground between his legs. She was either mad or powerful to risk such close proximity to him when he was in a most foul mood.

She tilted her head, silver hair cascading around her face and shoulders as she regarded him with regretful eyes. "Weakness, you say," she said. She placed a hand on her chest. "I, the Madly Blooming Princess, am weak?"

"You need not have known loss otherwise."

She grew silent. "All the powers of a Pureblood are for naught, you mean," she said, her voice no louder than a whisper. "I still lost that man."

He gave her a mocking smirk. "Such emotions are regardless," he said.

It was her turn not to answer. Instead, she held the bloodied flute close to her lips, and blew. He stared, listening, as the sound echoed softly around them. The cherry blossoms seemed to swirl in time to the melody.

Abruptly, she stopped and pulled the flute away from her bloodied lips. "It desires its original master," she said quietly. She held the flute in front of her. For a fraction of an instant, she looked as mad as her title proclaimed as she narrowed her eyes at the flute. A second later, the flute burst into a hundred splinters of wood.

He watched as the pieces swirled about them, before they turned into ash. "You have a master as well, do you not?" the Madly Blooming Princess asked.

For an instant, the image of his Father's fang flashed through his mind. "And you yourself are a servant to your loss," he said coldly, neither denying nor agreeing.

She smiled as she tilted her head. "I like you," she said quietly. "For the way you're so honest."

He stared, aloof, as her eyes glowed red. He knew what she wanted.

_Red was the color of sorrowful eyes._

Calmly, he raised his remaining hand in front of him, his claws glowing green. Her face, illuminated by the light of his claws, looked insane, sorrow and vengeance gleaming in her red eyes. Indeed, she was the Madly Blooming Princess.

Unfazed, she reached out, her slender fingers entwining with his glowing claws. "You are weakened, are you not?" she whispered, pinning his hand to the tree behind him. He heard and felt wood splintering beneath their hands.

Not at all disconcerted, he continued to regard her with impassive eyes. "I am never weakened," he said calmly.

Her eyes flashed, and she smiled at him. "Then," she said. "Let me give you a taste of sin."

Slowly, she leaned towards him. He felt her soft lips against his neck, before he felt her sharp fangs sink into his flesh. The cherry blossoms blew violently through the air, as warm blood trickled down his skin.

_Red was the color of blood freshly spilt._

One of her hands buried itself into his hair, holding him in place as she drank. He wound an arm around her waist, drawing her closer as her bloodlust intensified. The woman was filled with need—a need for power and a need for vengeance.

He understood her need, her want. After all…was he himself not a slave to such desires?

Thirst slaked, the woman pulled away from him. She smiled at him, mockingly, his blood dripping from the corner of her lips. "You are, indeed, a most enviable demon," she said. She did not wipe his blood away—whether this was due to derision, or pride, he could not say.

"And you are a most pitiful creature," he replied.

At that moment, a loud voice rang through the air.

"My lord! Where are you, my lord?"

She gave him one last smile of mockery, before a thick cloud of cherry blossoms swirled about them. In the blink of an eye, she vanished. The only trace of her presence could be found on the flesh of his throat.

A moment later, Jaken burst through the bushes, his expression one of bemusement. "Ah, my lord!" the little imp exclaimed as he rushed towards his master. "That wretched Inuyasha! How dare he raised your Father's fang against you? He will most surely…my lord?"

He kept his eyes fixed on the tree upon which she had sat earlier. "May I ask, what you are staring at, my lord?" Jaken asked, hesitant.

"She's gone," he said calmly.

"Eh…who, my lord?"

He turned his cold, golden eyes upon his servant as he answered. "The Madly Blooming Princess."

***.*.*.***

_**Fin**_

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End file.
